The Pencil Holder
by Neige Nivro
Summary: The problem wasn't that the pencil holder was broken, nor was it the fact that there wasn't any glue. The problem was that it wouldn't stay fixed. But Dr. Wilson was used to that


Title: The Pencil Holder

Author: Nnej Nivroop

Rating: G

Characters: Wilson, House, and the pencil holder

Ships: Gen (but if you squint hard enough…)

Disclaimer: I not only own House, but I own Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard as well. They are getting me tea and cookies while we speak.

Summary: The problem wasn't that the pencil holder was broken, nor was it the fact that there wasn't any glue. The problem was that it wouldn't stay fixed. But Dr. Wilson was used to that

A/N: My first House M.D. fic, and I am reasonably nervous about it. If you really must flame, at least throw some marshmallows in it so I have something sweet to hold on to.

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In Dr. Wilson's defense, the little glass pencil holder on his desk was rather haphazardly perched there. It had been just a matter of time before someone knocked it over. But he supposed that was irrelevant now. The fact of the matter was that it was now in two pieces on the floor.

Sighing at his clumsiness, he picked the delicate thing up and contemplated it for a minute. The pencil case--in all actuality-- wasn't that pretty. It wasn't even all that useful-- it only held about five pens and once they were in there, it was a bitch getting them out again. Really, he should throw it out before he cut himself on it.

'But', he argued with himself, 'it was a gift, and getting rid of it would be rude'. Besides, it had been on his desk forever; the spot would look so….incomplete without it.

And it was this train of thought that eventually lead Dr. Wilson down to the supply room, searching around phlegmatically for a thing of glue. Nothing. Not even Elmer's (which, he admitted to himself, wouldn't have worked on glass anyways). So, a bit heavy-hearted, Dr. Wilson left the supply room to return to his office. 'That was that,' he supposed. Never let it be said he didn't try.

But…the fact remained that it was not only a gift, but an integral part of his desk set as well. And, as he continued to think about it, he got more and more reluctant to give up just yet. Sure, it was in two pieces, but that could easily be fixed with the right equipment. Maybe he could pick up some glue on the way home from work, or…

Passing the nurses desk, he noticed a box of band-aids that had been left there. And looking at them for a moment, an idea started to develop in his head. A stupid idea, albeit, but at the lack of glue, it was the only quick-fix option open at the moment.

So, Dr. Wilson circled the box once. Then again. And then, with a furtive glance around the area, the box found its way into his suit pocket and off to his office it went.

Once there, it only required one or two band-aids to make the pencil holder whole again. It looked absurd. But it was fixed, and Dr. Wilson held it up proudly to admire his work. Smiling, he set it back down on the desk.

A half hour or so later, Dr. Wilson went to a meeting. When he returned, the pencil holder was on the floor again, this time in five pieces. Like a good doctor, he looked around the crime scene to try and figure out what had happened. It could have been anything; there was a note on his desk from a nurse so she might have knocked it over, a band-aid was resting comfortably on his desk, so it might have fallen off, perhaps they had an earthquake? Whatever. The fact was that it was broken again, and he wasn't quite sure if it was worth the time to put it back together again.

Before, it had only been two pieces. Now it was five, and he wasn't quite sure what order they went back in. Surely, this wasn't worth the effort.

But as Dr. Wilson picked up the pieces, the same nostalgia from before seemed to prevent him from simply throwing them away. After all, if he got rid of his pencil holder, what would sit next to his stapler? What would hold his pens and then--most often--refuse to give them back? Besides, it was fragile. He could appreciate that. So, out came the band-aids again.

The job was tireless this time; every time he tried to fit in one piece, it would fracture into other, smaller, more troublesome pieces. But after putting so much energy into this little inanimate object (and probably looking like a fool while doing so), Dr. Wilson couldn't just stop now. This pencil holder and he were at war. It was going back together whether it liked it or not.

But Dr. Wilson had to admit that in the end, the pencil holder won.

In about 40 pieces now, it was hard to tell if it was made of glass or just band-aids. And--most frustratingly--he had lost one of its pieces under the papers on his desk, and he was fairly certain he would never see it again (unless it ended up being wedged into his hand and extracted with tweezers). But, all things considered, he was pretty contented with the job he did. Sure, the pencil holder wasn't pretty or practical or even in one piece anymore, but it was still on his desk next to the stapler; where it belonged.

And it was then that Dr. House (who had been watching this absurdity silently from the door for a few minutes) walked over and placed a Vicodin in it, "From the looks of it, I think your patient here needs that more than I do." But Wilson shook his head and pulled the pill out, placing it neatly in his friend's palm, "No…No, I can take care of it."

And Dr. House smiled.


End file.
